


Just We Two

by suilven



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Drama, Family, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 20:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suilven/pseuds/suilven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A journey through Morrigan's pregnancy and the childhood/coming of age of the little one who would become a god.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Beginnings**

* * *

_The future destiny of the child is always the work of the mother._

_Napoleon Bonaparte_

* * *

The great bear loped through the ancient forest, her black coat glistening with drops of rain. The old leaves that blanketed the ground beneath her paws were spongy and damp with the early spring thaw and she kicked up clods of mulch with her claws as she ran. Her breath came in great huffs, though she was no stranger to running. The bear's pace did not falter until she reached the rocky banks of the river where the wide swath of water divided  _their_  forest from  _hers_. She was almost home.

She lumbered up to the water's edge and drank deeply—it was cold enough to make her teeth ache— and then shook, her body scattering droplets into the air. With heavy splashes, the bear waded into the shallows where the fish liked to hide. Standing perfectly still, she watched them dart around her feet. The icy water seeped slowly into her fur, but she ignored the creeping numbness—'twas only pain, after all—and waited. The wind ruffled her ears and she snorted softly. At last, her patience was rewarded and she sunk her snout into the stream and closed her jaws around the shining fish that had been foolish enough to come too close. It struggled, gasping and thrashing, but she held it tight in her teeth, feeling the bones break beneath her grip. With a rough shake from side to side, the fish lay limp and she clambered out of the river to feast upon her prize.

The tender flesh was cool and soothing against her throat and her stomach growled appreciatively. After several more fish had joined the first, Morrigan released the tendrils of magic binding her to this form and she stepped out of its skin and into her own. She shivered at the loss of fur and fat, quickly shielding herself in a cocoon of summoned heat. It felt strange to be human again. The past few weeks had been nothing but endless running—away from the great city where the Archdemon lay rotting, away from the people, away from the noise and the smell and the death that stalked the lands of men. The solitude sang to her like a forgotten song, a tune that had long faded into her dreams.

She sat near the bank, leaning her back against the withered bark of a leafless tree, its clawed hands reaching into the sky to clutch the clouds with spindly fingers. Beyond the river, in the dark heart of the forest, was a small hut, dormant and waiting for her to claim it. It was not that much further, but she was just too tired to continue. Morrigan curled up at the base of the tree and pulled her cloak over top of her; a few whispered words, and the colors and patterns of the leaf bed below her feathered their way around her weary form. Hidden and safe, she slept.

The sun was setting when she woke, the sky alive with vibrant swatches of orange and pink. She had not intended to sleep quite so long. Of late, it seemed like she could never get enough rest and a constant state of weariness dogged her steps. If she ran through the night, she could reach the hut. She forced herself to her feet, but the abrupt motion made her stomach lurch. Not again. Beads of sweat formed on her brow as she steadied herself. 'Twas a losing battle and she soon knelt heaving in the cool grass. What was this  _thing_  doing to her?

Morrigan slipped out a piece of dried ginger root from the pouch at her waist and chewed frantically, willing the waves of nausea to stop. The spice burned her tongue and made her nose tingle, but, eventually, the sensation receded enough that she could raise her head. Despite the fact that she had achieved what she desired, she still found herself resenting this little parasite in her womb. If she reached down deep, she could feel it stirring, growing stronger, feeding on her blood. Its heart had been beating for a few days now, tiny pulses fluttering against the touch of her power. She rose to her feet, shaky and quivering, and wrapped her arms tightly around her chest. Her breasts were noticeably fuller now and, sometimes, just the lightest brush of fabric against them was enough to make her gasp in agony. Morrigan smoothed a hand down the front of her robes. At least her belly was still flat, only the tiniest roundness hinting at what was to come.

She would endure. The loss of her body was only temporary and then everything would return to normal. The child would be hers and she would shape it into a creature of her own making. That was worth  _any_  level of discomfort.

Morrigan closed her eyes and surrounded herself with magic as the great bear swallowed her up once more. She dropped down to all fours, stamping her feet in the frosted grass. She wondered what happened to the thing, to the babe, when she changed. Did it stay human, or was it now an embryonic cub, drifting listlessly with dreams of dark caves and sweet summer berries?

With a grumbling whuff, she waded her way through the shallowest stretches of the stream until she reached the other side. Her forest. They would be safe here. With a final glance back, her dark eyes glinting in the moonlight, the shadows devoured her as she vanished into the trees.


	2. Quickening

**Quickening**

* * *

_There is nothing more thrilling in this world, I think, than having a child that is yours, and yet is mysteriously a stranger._

_~ Agatha Christie_

* * *

The clouds had been gathering all day, and by late afternoon, the sky was a bundled up blanket of grey shadows. Morrigan increased her pace, the basket of fresh cuttings swinging gently against her hip. An oppressive silence had descended over the forest and she knew the storm was not far off. The wind gusted around her, tugging at the edges of her robe and teasing damp strands free from the knot of hair at the base of her neck; a welcome relief from the sticky heat that made her reluctant to do anything other than wander along the stream, cooling her feet in the water. The canopy of branches overhead bowed and shuddered in elaborate ripples as she passed, leaves clinging tenuously by their stems as the wind tugged on them with playful fingers. She had just entered the clearing when the first echoes of thunder grumbled in the distance.

Morrigan brushed the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand as she stepped inside the small cottage and set her basket down on the worn wooden table. 'Twas even warmer inside, but she refused to close up the shutters on the windows until the rain started in earnest. She sank down into the chair next to the table with a grateful sigh and ran her hands over the slight swell of her abdomen. Now that the endless nausea and fatigue had abated, she found herself somewhat less irritated by the babe's presence. She was nearly halfway to term, by her estimates, and she was definitely getting larger—there was certainly no denying it.

The odd flash of lightning flitted across the sky and the air grew heavier, moist and thick, as she sorted through the plants she had collected this morning. Piles of petals and leaves, pungent mushroom caps, stems and seeds littered the table as she separated out the elements that were useful from those that were not. Morrigan rubbed her hands on a scrap of cloth, removing the residual stickiness from her labors, just as the first raindrops began to fall.

A bright streak of lightning carved across the clouds and the subsequent crack of thunder was enough to make the hut tremble. Drops of rain tumbled to the ground in an increasingly demanding patter as she stood up with the intent of tugging the shutters closed. When she reached the window, she could not resist stretching her hand out into the storm, a tiny puddle forming in the center of her cupped palm. With a touch of her power, she made the puddle swirl into a gentle whirlpool, twisting into concentric circles until she let it drain away through her fingers. The house was stifling, not that it was much better outside, but she rested her arms on the window ledge and leaned out, letting the rain fall against her face as her eyes drifted closed.

There was… a flutter.

Morrigan opened her eyes with a start and pressed a hand to her belly. It happened again, though her hand detected nothing. There was a twitch, most assuredly, but it was from the inside.

It was moving.

She held her breath and waited as the rain splattered over the sill, running down the earthen walls in dark rivulets.  _Come on, you silly thing._

But, there was nothing.

She pulled the shutters tight against the window frame with a reluctant frown. She was surprised to find that she was disappointed. 'Twas all so very… odd.

That night, she lay in the darkness, listening to the steady torrents of rain hammering against the roof as the water desperately sought entrance into the dryness below. It was far too warm for blankets, and she had kicked them down to the foot of the bed hours before. Her hand slid absently over the hardness of her belly, a gesture she found herself unconsciously performing more and more often. But, this time, there was an answering roll from within. There  _was_  a babe in there, in  _her_ , and it was hers. She was struck with such a profound sense of absurdity and wonder that she nearly laughed.

"You are mine, little one," she whispered into the air.

The babe shifted and settled as Morrigan ran the tips of her fingers over the places where she felt the movements within, caressing the source of each flutter.

The rain slowed, and then stopped as the hush of the forest dropped around the tiny hut like a cloak.

At last, the little one grew still, and Morrigan rolled over on to her side, overwhelmed by a strange feeling of contentment.

The haunting call of an owl ghosting through trees pierced through the silence.

Finally, she slept.


	3. Gravida

**Gravida**

* * *

_Everything grows rounder and wider and weirder, and I sit here in the middle of it all and wonder who in the world you will turn out to be._

_~ Carrie Fisher_

* * *

Morrigan ran a hand down the firmness of her belly and the little one inside of her bumped back. 'Twas the strangest sensation, these little movements that were not her own, emanating deep from within. She had thought at first that she would be repulsed by it, this foreign  _thing_  that had taken up residence in  _her_  body, but, instead, she found herself fascinated. If she slid her hand just so, there was almost always a tiny nudge in response. Sometimes, they were uncomfortable; a jab in the ribs or a painful dart down in her pelvis. But, the response it pulled from her was so primal, so instinctive as she stroked the babe through her own flesh and murmured unfamiliar words of comfort. "Hush now, little one. There is no need to fuss. Be still."

The hut she occupied had been Mother's—one of many—and it felt very much like all the others. The same scent of drying herbs, the same silence of the long-forgotten forest. 'Twas a relief to be alone again, after the constant chatter of travelling for so long. Leliana's simpering. Alistair's incessant nattering. She shuddered as she gathered up more sticks for the fire.

But, she was not alone. The little one stretched and twisted and Morrigan rubbed her protruding belly reflexively. Silly thing.

It was harder to bend down now, and she huffed with the effort that something as simple as collecting firewood seemed to take. The sky's hue was a soft pearl of baby blue and her breath came as flutters of fog in the chill morning air. Dew hung on the leaves and grasses like icy tears that soaked into the hem of her long robe as she walked. The pile of branches near the hut grew gradually taller as she gathered and stacked. The babe would be here soon, before the snows came, and so she collected the things they would need. She already had plenty of food: strips of dried meat, apples, potatoes, bags of ground wheat and oats, even a slab of honeycomb wrapped protectively in a scrap of parchment. They would burrow down in their little hut and let the winter cover them up like a blanket.

Not just her. Her and the little one.

A fox ghosted by and paused, a wisp of orange like a fallen leaf. Morrigan gave her a friendly nod and the vixen dipped her snout in return before vanishing into the trees. The trees here were giants, long hidden from the men who would slay them for houses and boats, and they stood watch over this secret place. Her back was beginning to ache, so she rested a hand against the wrinkled bark of one of her guardians and stretched carefully from side to side before resuming her task.

The sun had drifted to its peak overhead when she was finally satisfied. She sat outside in the grass and watched the wind gust through the dry leaves, crackling and spinning in an elaborate dance. Her mug of tea cooled rapidly in the breeze, and she sipped it slowly as she ate her meager lunch. The little one had the hiccups and her belly jumped rhythmically with each one. Morrigan rested her cup against her stomach and studied the ripples in her tea with each twitch. The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile.

Despite her magic, she still did not know if she carried a boy or a girl. 'Twould be a surprise, just for the two of them. At night, curled in her small chair by the fire, she thought about the baby's features, tracing a finger of thought over the profile of the round head, down the bridge of the nose to the button-like tip, over soft lips puckered in a pensive frown. Would it look like him? Her heart clenched painfully with the irrational hope. She poked at the embers with a stick, watching them spark and settle.

No, what was between them was done.

The idea of laboring alone terrified her, but there was no one to trust. She had already prepared the salves and teas that would ease her pains and make the delivery easier and, though she was no healer, she had her own power to draw on as well. Everything was ready, nothing was left to chance. Except, of course, for all the things she could not control. What would she do if the child was too large or positioned badly? For all that she worried—her brow creased in a frown as she laid great sprigs of elfroot to dry over the wooden frame—there was nothing to be done but trust that it would be all right. She had to have faith. 'Twas an unfamiliar sensation, to have nothing but hope.

In the dark, as the fire in the hearth grew weary and slumbered, she tossed fitfully in her bed as she struggled to find a position that was even remotely comfortable. Of course, once she found one, she inevitably was forced to rise to use the pot  _again_. 'Twas a maddening cycle. Yet, nestled back beneath the rough covers once more, the little one would jostle around and she would find herself caressing each bump and wondering if that was a knee or an elbow or a foot. She drifted off to sleep at last, soothed by those movements that were not her own…

"Hush now, little one. There is no need to fuss. Be still," she whispered into the stillness of the night.

A resounding kick in response.

Morrigan chuckled, letting out the deep breath she was holding and wrapping her arms around her belly, around the little one.

She would hope.

'Twould be enough.


	4. Genesis

**Genesis**

* * *

_The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new._

_~ Rajneesh_

* * *

When the cramps began, Morrigan was ready. The great tub near the hearth was filled with water, ready to be heated to steaming and sprinkled with herbs to calm and soothe. She made herself a pot of tea as she gathered clean cloths and arranged them within easy reach of the tub. She was uncomfortable, truly, but not in any sort of pain. Why so many women groused and whined over this so-called pain of childbirth was simply beyond her.

The cramps came and went all afternoon while she prepared a thick stew to pass the time. They hovered at the edge of her awareness as she tried fitfully to sleep, like waves washing unhurried against the shore. When she awoke from her broken dreams, they were still there, an intermittent pulse that refused to quicken. The little one was restless and eager, too, squirming and kicking impatiently at her ribs. By the end of the second day, Morrigan was disgruntled and irritable. She was ready. The little one was ready. Why did her body not simply obey?

On the third day, she forced herself to quash down a lingering fear that something was wrong. Perhaps the babe was in the wrong position? She was pacing, a circuit around the table near the cooking fire, into the main living area, around the waiting tub, and back again. She had witnessed the birth of many other animals in the forest; why should hers be so different? Her magic was of no use and there was nothing to do but wait. Outside the hut, snow was piled high around the walls, deep drifts creeping up to rest their frosty chins against the window sills.

By the fourth morning, Morrigan was ready to scream. Her abdomen was so swollen now that she thought she might burst like an overripe melon left out in the autumn sunshine. Her hands and feet had grown larger as well, puffed up with fluid, and she tried to avoid pondering how revoltingly huge she had become.

"I do not know what you are doing in there, little one, but I am done with this foolishness." She poked her belly with a finger. The little one kicked lightly in response, mocking her. "Very well, have it your way. But, I will not forget this, I assure you."

The intensity and frequency of her pains slowly increased as night fell once more, and Morrigan nearly wept in relief when her waters ruptured, flooding her legs with fluid. At last, the end was in sight. The sharpness of her contractions was suddenly blinding, and she leaned against the wall as another wave passed through her. She forced herself to keep walking even though the babe's head had dropped down lower than she had thought was even possible. Drawing on her power, she radiated tendrils of healing magic into her pelvis, enough to keep her from buckling over in agony. She stripped off her robe frantically in the brief interval between one round of clenching tightness and another, and then sank down into the steaming water of the tub.

Wave after wave of pain crashed over her until it became an unending blur. Panting, she rested her head against the bathtub's edge, her mind and thoughts too shattered to bring forth more than wisps of magic to dull the barest edge of the pain. Her body's response was primal and unyielding, forcing her to bear down as her muscles tensed. Morrigan moaned and clutched the sides of the tub. The agony intensified into a burning ring that tore a scream from her throat—and then there was a feeling of relief so exquisite, so amazing, that she groaned. Reaching her hand down into the water, she could feel the babe's head. After another wrenching push, the shoulders emerged and then the rest its body slid out easily. With a gasp of discomfort, Morrigan pulled the squirming babe up on to her chest and lay back. She was shaking, and it took a moment before she was able to reach for a cloth and rub the little one off. 'Twas really quite hideous looking, purple and splotchy, wrinkled and covered with a sticky white substance. The caul was draped over the babe's head and back, and she smiled as she carefully removed it before rubbing its skin vigorously with the cloth. Its body grew pinker and the little mouth opened to emit a shuddering cry. The sound pulled at her in a way that she did not understand and she stroked the babe's cheek softly.

"Hush, little one, there is no need to cry."

The babe's head turned towards the brush of her fingertips, its mouth gaping. Morrigan lightly touched the other cheek, and the babe's head turned once more to the source of the contact.

"Silly thing, I see what you are after," she said, shifting the babe over to her breast. After a few fumbling attempts, the babe was finally suckling vigorously. It sent ripples of discomfort through her pelvis as her muscles continued to contract, but her mind was clear enough now that she banished the worst of it with her magic.

She ran her hands over its tiny body, checking over each hand and each foot. She was somehow relieved to discover that it was a boy. The little one's eyes were fixed on her face as he nursed, as pure a blue as the water that ran in the stream nearby.

"Hello, little one," she whispered.

oOoOo

The next day, as they lay curled up together in the bed, Morrigan traced a fingertip over his features, her magic leaving a thin trail of orange sparks as she spoke. Beginning at the top of his forehead, she dipped down over the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones. She placed a gentle touch on each sleepy eyelid and rested her finger briefly against his lips.

"I name thee Calum, blood of my blood."

The babe's skin was as soft and delicate as a flower petal, and Morrigan's finger drew a line down the center of his chest and then down his left arm—she had to unclench the small fist to touch his palm. She did the same with his right, the mark of her power leaving a glowing trail where she touched.

"With my knowledge, I shall guide thee."

She continued the path down his chest and stomach, and then each leg in turn, stroking the sole of each tiny foot.

"The breadth of my power shall nourish and sustain thee."

Finally, she pressed her palm over his heart and allowed a bloom of orange to pool there.

"I shall protect and watch over thee, for thou art mine."

The little one stretched out his arm and yawned.


	5. Closed Circle

**Closed Circle**

* * *

_In the sheltered simplicity of the first days after a baby is born, one sees again the magical closed circle, the miraculous sense of two people existing only for each other._

_~ Anne Morrow Lindbergh_

* * *

Truly, she had never been this exhausted in her life. Morrigan had done little besides lie in bed with the babe for the days after his birth and everything ached, despite the pulses of healing magic she drained into her body. She brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen into her face as she tried not to think about how unclean and sticky she felt. Her milk had come in at last, leaving her breasts hard and hot, and they seemed to be leaking constantly, wet stains darkening across her robes. The little one was annoyed, too, as she could not seem to get him to latch properly on the swollen tissue. After a few attempts, he would scrunch up his little face and wail, pushing away with pitiful flails of protest. She clenched her jaw as she brought him to her breast once more, barely stifling a growl. 'Twas all so very frustrating. Doubly so because she had witnessed so many other animals nursing their young and they seemed to have  _none_  of these problems.

He clamped down on her nipple and tried to suckle, making her gasp in pain, and he gave a shivery squawk of protest when she detached him. Finally, after compressing her breast with her fingers, she was able to get him on properly. Settling back against the pillows, the little one made happy grunts as he nursed and she ran her fingers over the wisps of dark hair on his head.  _Nothing_  had prepared her for any of this.

Mother had occasionally spoken of the things that would need to be done after the child of the ritual was born, but never of what would be involved in actually  _raising_  him. The thought of Flemeth caring for a babe seemed so unnatural; yet, she was here, so clearly Mother had managed somehow. When his sucking slowed, Morrigan shifted him against her shoulder and rubbed his back. It had not taken long for her to discover that, should she skip this step, he was likely to cover her with the curdled remnants of his meal. He burped, surprisingly loud for such a small creature, and nuzzled his face into her neck.

"All right, little one, shall we change your nappy?" She had never felt so ridiculous, but, logically, how would he learn unless he could hear her speak? There would be none of that foolish baby talk, though. He would talk properly, or not at all.

She laid him down on the bed between her legs and reached for a square of cloth from the pile beside the bed. Wiping him clean with the edges of the old diaper, she folded the new cloth as best she could and pinned it in place, careful not to stick the soft skin of his belly. This had been a learning experience, too, as he had leaked all over her several times when she had not cinched it tight enough… not to mention his uncanny ability to let loose as soon as she pulled his diaper back. Morrigan tossed the dirty cloth into the nearby basket. She needed to launder those soon as well. The little one watched her intently, his fingers clutching and releasing the ridges of the blanket beneath his back.

"Up you go," she said, lifting him up and arranging him on his side at her other breast. This side was easier, as his hunger had been sated somewhat and his movements were less frantic. The discomfort faded after a minute or two, and she watched the rhythm of his jaw as he nursed. She could feel the power deep within him, like an ember that would someday become a flame.

His eyes closed and his suckling grew erratic as he drifted off, growing heavier in her arms until he released her breast with a sigh. Morrigan smoothed away the trickles of milk from the corners of his lips. Every so often, his mouth would pucker and his chin would twitch up and down as he continued to make suckling motions, even in his sleep. She kissed his brow, inhaling his scent, before swaddling him tightly in one of his blankets. His tiny limbs jerked constantly in his sleep, and she had seen him flail himself awake—and screaming—several times. With a gentle rocking motion, Morrigan stood up and settled him down into the woven basket that had once held herbs, the mint-like smell of elfroot permeating his blankets. He never slept as long here, apart from her, but she hesitated to leave him in the larger bed on his own, without her arms to keep him from rolling off.

She touched the small rune at the bottom of tub and it began to fill with water. At least that utterly wretched stay in Orzammar had been good for something. She unbound her hair and stripped off her clothes as the tub filled, before summoning a steady stream of energy to heat the water. The sides of the tub bore faint scorch marks from where she had scoured it with flames after the birth. Truly, how did people live without magic? Pitiful fools.

Morrigan stepped carefully into the tub and settled down in the water with a long sigh. The icy wind was whistling along the slats of the shutters outside, but the inside of their hut was delightfully warm. She soaked in the water for a long time, soothing the ache from her muscles, before turning her attentions to her hair and body. She stood up and reached for a towel before stepping out of the tub and rubbing herself dry. The sensation of being clean was beyond wondrous. With just a hint of heat in her hands, Morrigan dried her hair before fastening it back at the nape of her neck. She dressed in a pair of clean robes before tossing the rest of laundry into the tub to soak for now.

The little one made a squeaky whimper. He could not possibly be getting up again so soon, could he? The whimper turned into a full cry that made her breasts twinge as her milk began to flow in anticipation. She scooped him up into her arms.

"I suppose I should be grateful that you allowed me to finish bathing. Come, silly thing, I shall feed you again, if only for the peace and quiet it affords me." He continued to cry, managing to turn almost completely red in the process.

Morrigan slid back on to the bed and dragged a pillow into her lap to balance him on as she drew the top of her robe aside. He began rooting for her breast as soon as she brought him close and she helped him latch properly. He suckled eagerly, as if he had not just eaten an hour or so before.

Somehow, she knew, the winter was going to seem longer than usual this year.


	6. Milestones

**Milestones**

* * *

_It is not until you become a mother that your judgment slowly turns to compassion and understanding._

_~ Erma Bombeck_

* * *

At first, Morrigan wasn't sure if they were  _true_  smiles or not. He had so many strangely comical expressions, especially when he was preparing to give her yet another diaper to change. But, as she leaned in to pick him up off the bed, there it was—a lopsided grin that was, clearly, directed at her. She lifted him up and cradled him at eye level.

"Those tactics will not work on me, little one. I am your keeper, nothing more."

He made a small gurgle as he studied her face intently. His eyes were deepening already, more grey than blue, into what she suspected would eventually be close to hazel. She stroked her finger down the side of his cheek and down to the underside of his chin, where he squirmed and then smiled again with a small coo.

"Silly thing, let us go see to your bath, then."

oOoOo

The little one's first laugh took her by surprise. His head was growing steadier, and she appreciated the lack of floppiness more than she would care to admit. Morrigan sat with him by the fire as her soup simmered, filling the small cottage with a delicious scent that made her stomach grumble in anticipation. They had settled into a comfortable routine and, with spring nearly upon them, she was eager to be out in the forest once more. She bounced him lightly on her knee as he tried to grab the hair that hung down by her face in his tiny fists.

"No, you do not, little one." She shook her head as he reached out again. He was nothing if not persistent.

She peered over at the pot—the dried meat she had added had likely softened enough to be edible now—and her momentary distraction was all it took.

"Ouch! That was uncalled for." Morrigan looked at him sternly as he yanked his prize towards his mouth. She made a face. "Ugh, must absolutely everything go in your mouth?"

He stopped and looked at her, the strand of hair halfway to its destination.

Morrigan couldn't help chuckling at his puzzled expression. Then, the little one joined in, a giggle bubbling up from his belly. 'Twas a strange sound, not one that she had ever really  _heard_ before now—perhaps, 'paid attention to' was a more apt description—especially not within the confines of these walls. The response it elicited in her was strange, as well. She wanted to hear him do it again.

oOoOo

This, she could have done without. Truly, no other creature in nature seemed so determined to complain as a human infant. 'Twas merely a tooth, nothing more, and yet the little one had been grousing for days, reluctant to nurse and waking more frequently during the night. She was feeling incredibly short-tempered as she bound him up into the sling on her back and headed out into the warmth of the early summer sun. Walking amongst the trees seemed to calm him, and the nearness of the wilds soothed her with its cool caress.

Morrigan pointed out things as they walked and she gathered anything that could be useful. He dozed eventually, the weight of him growing ever so slightly heavier as his body sagged in sleep. She went as far as the river, although she stayed cautiously at the edge of the trees rather than venturing to the water's edge. There had been more tracks of men only a few days earlier, not traders this time, but men whose footsteps were heavy and metal. She frowned.

That night, as she rubbed an elfroot paste over his gums, she felt the tiniest of points beneath her fingertip. Finally. As she settled him in to nurse, she was suddenly struck by the fact one of the most sensitive parts of her body was now in the mouth of this creature who was currently doing little aside from biting everything in sight, and, he would soon have teeth. Real teeth.

"There will be no biting  _there_  or there will be no milk," she whispered to him, more for her own benefit than for his.

oOoOo

As the little one had become more mobile, there were new challenges she had not anticipated. He was fascinated by the flickering flames in the hearth, and Morrigan was forced to maintain a constant shield around it whenever he was crawling about inside. The knees of his trousers had been patched repeatedly—Mother would have been pleased to see her using the skills that she had complained bitterly about learning—worn away to nothing on the rough floor.

When he began to pull up, nothing was safe from his grasping fingers. He was also a remarkably poor judge of selecting objects that could actually bear his weight, and Morrigan was sure her lackluster healing ability improved somewhat over that autumn.

A faint hint of frost drifted on the wind as they lingered outside after dinner; the first snow of the season surely no more than a few weeks away. The little one was gripping the edges of a tree stump, poking a finger into the soft moss that clung to its surface. Morrigan crouched down close by and summoned a bauble of muted green light in her palm. He stopped, his little mouth hanging open, before reaching out towards it with an impatient grunt.

"If you want it, you must come here." He whined a little, but she held out her hand, unflinching. "This world will be ours, little one, but you must have the courage to take it."

He released his hold and stretched his arm towards her, but she was just out of a reach. With a wobble that nearly toppled him, the little one took a hesitant step forward, and then reached for the stump to regain his balance.

"You can do it. Come. Take it." His brow wrinkled with determination as he let go and barreled forward into her with a rush of uncoordinated movement.

Morrigan smiled and let bauble drop into his hands as she picked him up and carried him back towards the hut. She leaned in and kissed his forehead. "See? Your mother is always right. 'Twould be wise for you to remember this."

oOoOo

Despite the fact that he now no longer walked, but ran, the little one was the clumsiest creature she had ever seen. Like a careless puppy, he was constantly tripping over his own feet, and then tumbling head first into the ground. There always the initial shock of surprise—splayed out on his stomach at her feet—but then he was pushing himself up to amble away and repeat the process once more.

Morrigan took him out into the forest every day now that spring had returned, and she relished the feeling of freedom as the endless days spent inside fell away to reveal the vast expense of trees. Tiny buds, hiding the leaves yet-to-be, had exploded over the branches above while the soggy remains of last year's decay squelched beneath their boots. Their progress was slow, as the little one was forever ducking down to collect rocks or twigs or pinecones—a dead bird, once—that he then pressed into her hands like some sort of offering. He was dawdling behind when she heard the dull thump of him falling over and she shook her head. Silly thing. But, the silence lasted a moment too long and she turned.

He was sprawled in the wet mulch, crumbs of brown clinging to his forehead, crimson beads of blood forming on his lower lip. His mouth was open, screaming, but there was a long pause before the sound appeared; a wail that scorched across the surface of her heart. She started towards him instinctively, and then stopped. 'Twas only a little pain, a bitten lip. She would  _not_  coddle him.

She folded her arms across her chest. "Up you get, little one. 'Tis merely a scratch."

His screams only intensified as he looked at her in anguish, tears running down his cheeks and blood running down his chin.

Morrigan steeled herself despite the clenching pull in her gut. Mother would have put a stop to this behavior, just as she was doing. He would be stronger for it. "Come, now, you are strong, are you not?" She beckoned him forward, but did not move.

The little one's head fell forward into the dirt as he cried, hammering his fists loosely against the ground. She was going to vomit. How much longer must she hold out? There was a memory there, far away, of a kind of curled up fear. She had wept, but there was never any reprieve beyond the exhausted sleep that eventually claimed her. As she hesitated, his head lifted and his eyes met hers.

"Mama!" The little one's hands reached for her. "Mama!" He dissolved into incoherent sobs as she ran for him, scooping him up in her arms as he clung tightly to her neck. She murmured soft words into his ear and stroked his hair as she rocked him. Her cheek rested against the top of his perfect head. It was a long while before his tears faded into shuddering breaths and hiccups.

Morrigan pulled her head back and gently took his face in her hands. "Let us take a look then, all right?" The warm amber of his eyes peered out through a mask of earth and blood and tears. "I have to touch, but I will try not to hurt." She traced a fingertip over the gash below his lower lip where his teeth had gone through, allowing a trickle of healing magic to seal it. He would have a scar, but, somehow, that mattered little. She smiled at him. "There, all better. Shall we walk home?"

He looked at her and sniffled a little before wrapping his arms around her neck once more, burying his face in her shoulder.

"No walking? Are your legs not capable?"

The little one nuzzled in closer. "Mama."

Morrigan carried him home. Truthfully, she desired the closeness as much as he did.

oOoOo

The winter snows were higher this year than in any in her memory. She and the little one lay cocooned in their blankets, listening to the wind and the army of crystallized ice that battered against the outside walls. It was late, but he was still awake, fidgeting and talking to himself, while she pretended to sleep in the vain hope that he would finally succumb if she ignored him. 'Twas not working.

He pushed against her back. "Mama, look."

"Go to sleep, little one," she whispered.

"Look first, mama. Star!"

Morrigan rolled over with an exasperated sigh. "This is the last time. 'Tis time for sleep."

The little one lay on his side facing her as he slowly uncurled his fist. "Look, mama." A tiny orange light glittered in his palm. "Star!"

She did not know what to say—the sense of wonder, of pride, of joy, overwhelmed her.

He closed his fist and opened it again. Blue this time. Then yellow. Morrigan conjured one into her own hand and held it next to his. The little one smiled with delight. "Mama, star, too!"

"Yes... mama, star, too. Now, sleep." She extinguished the light in his hand, then the one in her own, and pulled him close. As he dropped off into slumber at last, she reveled in the sweet smell of his hair, the warmth of his limbs tangled with hers, the steady rhythm of his breath. She kissed the top of his head.

"Good night, little one," she whispered into the darkness.


	7. Lessons

**Lessons**

* * *

_A mother's heart is the child's classroom._

_~ Henry Ward Beecher_

* * *

She taught him without thinking about it, everything flowing as naturally from her to him as the rush of water in their river. When he was very small, Morrigan would point out things as they walked, his tiny head swiveling at the sound of her voice while he was bundled against her back. Once he could walk, he toddled along beside her and they found plenty to see even though they did not stray far from the house. He crushed the plants she showed him into a sticky mess in his fingers, which he then, inevitably, wiped clean on the seat of his trousers… or the skirts of her robe. But, she persisted regardless.

He learned to swim in the cold shallows of the river, silver fish darting around his ankles as he pointed and yelled over and over again for her to 'Look, mama, look.' She taught him to read and write, bent over the old table after they had finished eating, when the snows lay deep and trackless around them. After that, he craved books in a way she did not share, but he was happy enough with the odd volume she was able to procure from the nomadic traders that passed sporadically through the borders of their forest.

The forest was their playground and Morrigan showed him everything she knew. Each plant, each animal, she named and they studied together as his whims allowed. His observations were simple but, every so often, he would surprise her with something amusing or insightful. Each herb she collected they would smell, feel, and taste, if it was safe; the sweet mint-like scent of elfroot, the sticky deathroot leaves that clung to his fingers until he peeled them free—naturally followed by her admonishment  _not_  to put those fingers in his mouth. The animals that they encountered were all summarily chased with shrieks and giggles. The little one liked it best when she shifted into the great bear's body, and he would clamber up on to her back as she loped through the trees, his tiny arms buried in her fur.

The lessons about magic, though, were clearly his favorite. She taught him control first, a difficult thing for one so young and with so much raw power to master.

"Imagine you are a tree, little one. Your bark must be hard and strong to keep your magic inside."

He dutifully closed his eyes. "I tree, mama."

"Now, imagine you wish to grow a leaf. Just one, on the end of your finger. Let just a tiny bit of energy out and send it there."

He held out his hand, index finger extended. She saw his eyes open briefly, checking to make sure that it was correct. He shut his eyes tight once more and his brow crinkled as he concentrated. From the tip of his finger, a bud sprouted and opened—no leaf, but a flower. A blossom of soft purple with the delicate scent of lavender.

"Well done, little one."

A smile lit up his face as he opened his eyes. "I did it!" He pulled the bloom carefully from his finger and held it up to her. "For you, mama."

Morrigan felt a peculiar squeeze in her chest. "Thank you, little one." These gestures, casual and innocent, did  _something_  to her.

She showed him basic spells from the various schools of magic and, as he grew older, he combined them in ways that made her wonder if Mother had truly known what it was that they would be releasing into the world. Evocative skies, filled with crackles of purple lightning, rained down droplets of water that healed where they fell. Swarms, not of insects, but of fire, pinpricks of light swirling in a frenzied dance. He refused to cast entropy spells of any kind; they did not sing to him, he said, they were full of dark whispers. The one time they tried, the little one had pressed his hands over his ears and wailed. Morrigan did not make him try again.

At the end of each lesson, she talked about the Chantry, about what he must do if he saw the metal-clad warriors with the flaming sword etched upon their breastplates.

"First, you must—"

"Run. Change shape if I can." She nodded and he continued. "Get to the safe place and hide. Wait for you."

"Exactly right. Come, let us wend our way home and find some supper."

His hand found hers and they walked back in silence while she thought about all the things she did not say. Where would he go, if she could not return for him, if something happened to her? Would he wait there, lost and unsure, or, worse, would he come looking for her and fall into danger himself? He was skipping alongside her, humming softly and trailing a hand over the trees that were close enough to touch, and her worry settled into her chest like a bird coming home to roost. She pushed the sentiment away. 'Twas foolish to dwell on it. But, as he turned his face up to look at her and smiled, her heart clenched so tightly that she forgot to breathe.

That night, she slipped a ring on to one of his slender fingers. He touched it reverently before glancing up. "Is it a present?"

"Yes, you must keep this on, always. It will allow me to find you no matter where you go. Do you understand?" His eyes were so calm and trusting.

"Yes, mama. Thank you." He padded off towards the bedroom, but stopped and turned back to face her. "Will you tuck me in?"

Morrigan stood up and rubbed the back of her neck. "You are getting too old for that nonsense, are you not?"

The little one thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No."

"Very well, then. Come on." She settled him into the bed and pulled the covers up around his shoulders. "I will be along shortly. Sleep now."

His hand reached up to stroke her cheek and she kissed his fingers.

They would not take him. They would not take her.

If she had to, she would kill them all.


	8. A Transitory Peace

**A Transitory Peace**

* * *

_Being a mother is learning about strengths you didn't know you had, and dealing with fears you didn't know existed._

_~ Linda Wooten_

* * *

There were men in her forest. She did not know who they were yet—templars, bandits, settlers—but she was not about to stay and find out. The hawk had seen them, pushing through the trees with confident strides. 'Twas no matter, they would be gone before they got close.

Dusk was creeping through their house, washing out the colors as the sounds of the birds grew faint and still. The little one watched her with curiosity as she packed.

"Where are we going, mama?" He sat on their bed, his legs crossed, as he summoned a wisp of magic to make his pinecone march across the rugged terrain of the blankets.

"Somewhere new. 'Twill be a grand adventure, just like in those silly stories you are so fond of." She chose his warmest clothes, leaving the ones that were becoming threadbare in the bottom of the drawer. Winter was getting closer. The shoreline of the nearby stream was outlined each morning in thin, crisp sheets of ice.

The pinecone climbed over the small hill of his foot and paused at the summit. "Will we go to a city? I should like to see a castle."

Morrigan stifled a chuckle, knowing how offended he became when he thought she was laughing at him. "No, little one. We will see a city some day, you have my promise, but, for now, we will find another forest to hide us." She tucked a spare set of robes and a small box into the middle of the rucksack.

"Why do we hide? The chevaliers in my book are very brave. I could be very brave, too." He sat up straighter, pushing out his chest.

"I know you are, but we need time." She stopped to look at him, her innocent boy with hair the color of a raven's wing, his father's eyes, and the soul of an old god thrumming deep within. "Your power is still mostly dormant. There will be plenty of time for you to be brave."

He sighed and toppled the pine cone with his finger. It rolled down to rest in front of him, inert once more. "I do not  _want_  to wait." His lower lip trembled and he began to crumble the pine cone into bits with his fingers.

Morrigan selected a handful of vials and poultices and wrapped them carefully in long strips of cloth. "I know." There was no reasoning with him in this mood. She watched his methodical destruction as she nestled each precious bundle into its proper place. The small room was growing darker and she lit the candle on the dresser with the tiniest whisper of her power. It flared to life, an orange beacon chasing away the shadows.

When she had finished, she sat down next to him on the bed. He didn't meet her eyes, but poked at the fragments that littered the blankets. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, ignoring his resistance until he melted into her embrace with a muffled sigh. He inched back into her lap and she pulled him close, holding him like he was still a tiny babe, although his legs draped over hers now. His hair smelled like pine and wood smoke as she pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"Mama?"

"Yes, little one?"

"Must we always run? Have we done something bad?" He toyed with the edge of her robe.

"No, we have done nothing wrong. Men fear that which they do not understand. 'Tis a weakness bred into them, but one that is easy to exploit."

The boy nodded, and then paused. "So, why do we not fight, drive them away?"

"We will when you are older, but you must have time to grow first. Then, they will bow before us and we will live as we please." He was getting sleepy, ever so slowly heavier in her arms as he relaxed.

Morrigan shifted him out of her lap and stood, ignoring his murmur of protest. She pulled the covers back—a tiny shower of destroyed pine cone scattering everywhere—and then tucked the blankets back in around him. She kissed his forehead.

"Hush now, little one. There is no need to fuss. Be still."

"Good night, mama." He watched her with slow blinks as she smoothed back a tendril of hair that had fallen across his face.

She let her magic flow into her fingertips and blew on them gently, letting a phosphorescent blue settle on the fragments that covered the top of the blankets. Twinkling like miniature azure fireflies, they drifted into the air on an unseen breeze, filling the room with stars. She blew out the candle and the boy smiled, reaching a hand into the glittering darkness.

"Good night, little one." Morrigan slung the half-filled pack over her shoulder. There was still packing to be done.

Someday, they would stop running. But, not today.


	9. Peril

**Peril**

* * *

_I cannot forget my mother. She is my bridge. When I needed to get across, she steadied herself long enough for me to run across safely._

_~ Renita Weems_

* * *

These two were definitely more persistent that the last ones. The little one had already been sent scrambling into the undergrowth in a mad run towards the safe place they had chosen only a few days before. He was accustomed to the routine now; the first few times had left him clinging tightly in her embrace, trembling through the long dark hours until morning. They had been on the run for more than three years, moving between Mother's secret huts and hiding places, and she had thought this one was safe. But, somehow, they had known.

She lay stretched along a thick branch, the lustrous brown of her coat blending easily into the dappled canopy of leaves. They walked below her, with steps that betrayed their hesitance, and she could smell the prickle of their unease—these two so-called warriors. The tip of her tail writhed and twitched in anticipation.

The taller one stopped and bent down, his gauntleted hand raking along the forest floor as he unfolded a bent and broken sapling, scarcely more than a branch, jutting from the earth. With a nervous glance, he gestured to the short one.

" _Où est le garçon?"_  The tall one snapped off the loose end of the sapling and threw it into the trees.

The short one looked around anxiously.  _"Je ne sais pas mais, si la sorcière—"_

" _Tais-toi!"_ The tall one's voice dropped to a whisper that she could barely make out.  _"Nous ne parlerons pas d'elle…"_

Interesting. This was new. Morrigan extended and retracted her claws into the wrinkled bark as she thought. So, 'twas either a rather fantastical coincidence that a pair of Orlesian templars just happened to be wandering around in the backwoods of Ferelden, or the Divine was now aware of the boy's presence. She blinked slowly and flattened her ears against her head. These two would meet the same fate as the others.

Morrigan reached out with her mind, brushing the tops of the trees, plucking out the cord that bound her to the ring he wore. She slid the tendril of her consciousness along it, following its trail to their designated copse of trees.

The little one was there. He was safe.

She crept back into her mind with a sigh of relief and raised herself up languidly on her haunches. 'Twas time to see how fast these two could run.

oOoOo

With a final sweep of her pink tongue, Morrigan licked the last of the blood from her paws. It made little difference to her, but she knew it bothered the little one. She stretched and began to run, bounding through the foliage, letting the exhilaration of the successful hunt fill her. The forest called to her, open and welcoming, and she nearly lost herself in the tangled symphony of sights and sounds. It took her a moment to realize that she had passed their spot.

She stopped.

Where was he?

Like a discarded cloak, she cast the cat's form away and stood up in her own. "Little one? 'Tis no time for games, you know this." Needles of fear wormed their way through her belly. "Come out this instant, you foolish child."

She reached out again with a thought, but the cord she clutched fell at her feet. Morrigan crouched down and brushed aside the leaves in front of her.

His ring.

It was cold and hard in her palm and she crushed it in her fist, feeling her nails cut into her palm.

They would pay.

Morrigan slipped the ring on to her smallest finger and gathered her magic, wrapping the great cat's body around her once more. Lowering her nose to the ground, she inhaled deeply, easily picking out the hint of that same soft milky scent he had always had, even as a babe. If they had hurt him… she roared, making the trees shake with her fury.

They were moving quickly, their haste making their trail simple for her to follow. When she heard voices, she pressed herself into the underbrush and crept forward until she could see. Two more of them—how had she missed them?—marched as best they could through the thick growth. The little one hung limply over the shoulder of the first. Anger swept through her body, flames licking away all rational thought as she resumed her form. Her power answered her call, pluming up from the depths as she paralyzed each one, and collected  _her_  child. The little one was unconscious, but alive, and a large bruise covered one of his cheeks like an overturned pot of ink. His wrists were chafed and raw, fastened together with iron manacles. He whimpered as she shifted him against her and set him down in the leaves.

"One moment, little one. I must deal with these ones first."

Morrigan stalked up to the first one, his arms still frozen in place though the burden they had carried was gone. "Even though you cannot  _move_ , templar, you can still  _feel_ , yes?" She stroked a fingertip down the plane of his cheek, enjoying the fear in his eyes. Walking around to the other one, she did the same thing, her smile cold and predatory. "'Tis a shame that you cannot open your mouths to scream. I think I shall relish your deaths all the same." She stepped back and cast, holding her arms aloft as swarms of stinging insects swirled around them, unrelenting and unstoppable.

Their bodies toppled to the ground unnoticed as she turned back to the little one who lay curled on the forest floor; she dropped to her knees as her fury blew away into ash. Pulling him into her lap, she snapped the manacles from his wrists with a controlled burst from her fingertips.

His hands were so cold.

Morrigan laid her palm across his chest and closed her eyes, willing her magic to bend itself to her demands. A thin trickle of blue seeped into him, but it was not enough. Desperation made her eyes prickle with a strange burning heat.

"Come back to me," she whispered.

She wrestled with it, pulling the energy out of herself until she ached, and the trickle became a flood, bathing the boy in a nimbus of blue light. He opened his eyes weakly.

"Mama?" His voice was only a croak, but she nearly sagged with relief.

"Yes, little one?"

A single tear rolled down her cheek and he reached up to catch it on the tip of his finger. "I knew you would come." The droplet stretched and elongated, dividing into two segmented wings around a cylindrical body. Its wings glittering like jewels, the butterfly flapped and soared into the air.

She held him tight, his head pressed against her shoulder, and wept until a kaleidoscope of tiny butterflies fluttered around them.

"I wish we could go home," he whispered into her neck.

"Do not dwell on impossibilities," she said, resting the side of her face gently against the top of his head. "There is only unhappiness there. You must be strong."

He buried himself deeper within the shelter of her arms. "I know."

Yet, the butterflies all pulled in their wings and, one by one, they plummeted to the ground, leaving nothing but the traces of her tears on her cheeks.

* * *

*Translation:

" _Where is the boy?"_  The tall one snapped off the loose end of the sapling and threw it into the trees.

The short one looked around anxiously.  _"I don't know but, if the witch—"_

" _Be quiet!"_ The tall one's voice dropped to a whisper that she could barely make out.  _"We will not speak of her…"_


	10. Rebellion

**Rebellion**

* * *

_Motherhood brings as much joy as ever, but it still brings boredom, exhaustion, and sorrow too. Nothing else ever will make you as happy or as sad, as proud or as tired, for nothing is quite as hard as helping a person develop his own individuality especially while you struggle to keep your own._

_~ Marguerite Kelly and Elia Parsons_

* * *

The white wolf loped angrily through the snow, her long strides leaving clouds of crystallized flakes in the air behind her. He had gone back there again, she was sure of it. The wind gusted around her, ruffling her thick fur, though she scarcely noticed the cold. Morrigan slowed as the pale yellow glow of lights in the valley far below became visible. She must be more cautious now. With careful steps, she dropped her body lower against the snow and slunk towards the village.

When she reached the outlying houses, she stuck to the shadows, grateful for the lack of moonlight. There was no one out on the pathways that led further into the small town. The windows in all the houses were shut up to block out the cold, the barest slivers of warm light escaping through the cracks. The winters in the Frostback Mountains were long and hard, and the people who lived here were as weathered as the walls of rock that surrounded them.

Morrigan rounded a corner and froze. Crouched in the snow, their heads pressed close together, were the little one and some… girl. They had not noticed her.

"—and then my Pa always just yells, you know how it is." The girl tucked a long strand of blond hair behind her ear and blew on her hands lightly. "So, how come I only see you at night? Where do you and your Ma live?"

The little one looked down at his feet where the snow was blowing small drifts over the hills of his boots. "We live further out, in the mountains. My mother is nervous around people."

"But, what about you? Don't you get lonely out there by yourself?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes. I like to read, though. Do you?"

The girl shook her head. "Don't know how. Ma says it ain't good for me to know, that it'll make me forget my place."

"I could teach you." The words toppled out of his mouth, one on top of the next.

She paused. "I don't know, Calum, let me think about it, okay?" She rubbed her hands together briskly. "I should get the wood and get back inside before they all start wondering where I am. Will I see you tomorrow?"

The little one nodded. "Of course."

The girl gathered up a few logs from the large pile stacked beside the house. "Good night." She smiled.

"Good night."

She vanished around the corner and Morrigan heard the door open and close. The little one stood staring after her. This was so much worse than she had ever imagined. How could he be so foolish? After everything they had been through?

The boy's form shimmered for a moment and rearranged itself into a small fox. He turned and saw her then, his eyes widening. She advanced on him slowly, her fangs bared in a snarl, until she was close enough to snatch him up by the scruff of his neck. He yelped, growing silent as the growl in her throat rumbled deep within her chest. Away from the town, the lights, the people, Morrigan carried him until there was nothing but a landscape of stark absolutes—white snow and black sky.

She dropped him to the ground and threw off her wolf form, just as the boy did the same. He stood up with a defiant glare, tilting his head up to appear ever so slightly taller. He was nearly up to her chin now, thin and lean, and his fine dark hair hung loosely down, the tips just brushing his shoulders.

When she spoke, her voice was cold, only the tiniest tremor giving away the depth of her anger. "What do you think you were doing? Do you have any idea of the danger you placed yourself in?"

He did not answer, maintaining his stony silence without dropping his eyes.

Morrigan leaned in. "Would you truly just throw it all away? After all that I have done for you, after everything that I have sacrificed—"

He exploded in a rage, his clenched hands shaking. "Nobody asked you to. I never wanted this. Why should I not want to see how other people live? You would have never allowed me to look around or to talk to someone. No, we are always running, never in one place long enough to  _belong_  anywhere. I hate it! 'Tis not fair!"

"'Tis not fair?" Morrigan crossed her arms over her chest as the wind whipped her cloak out behind her. "You are correct. I am doing this to protect you, you ungrateful whelp. You have no idea what  _I_  have been through."

"Because you will not tell me! You treat me like a child!"

"You  _are_  a child!"

He shook his head. "No, not any more. You call me 'little one,' but that is not who I am. Not anymore."

"Your magic is still bound. Until it is released, you are in danger, and you need me to keep you safe."

The little one—Calum—smirked at her. "I can take care of myself. Do you know how long I have been coming down here? A month. Every night."

A month.

She could barely focus she was so livid. "I thought I had raised you with some modicum of common sense, but I was clearly mistaken. If you wish to go, then go. I will not stop you. When the templars carry you off to be sacrificed to their ridiculous god, I will not come looking for you. Is that what you desire?"

He hesitated, but then nodded.

"Fine." Morrigan drew the wolf's form around her own once more and loped furiously away, leaving him standing, alone, in a sea of white.

She did not look back.

oOoOo

Morrigan lay in her bed, unable to sleep, her stomach sick with worry. The cabin was silent except for the high-pitched wail of the wind whistling through the thin gaps in the shutters. She should go bring him home. How could she have let him go, after everything? He  _was_  in danger, the fool. And she had left him alone…

The door creaked open and then shut again. She could hear his shuffling footsteps as he removed his boots and hung his cloak to dry near the banked down fire in the hearth. The sense of relief that coursed through her was so sharp that it stung. Morrigan slowed her breathing, making each breath deeper, as he crept into the bedroom. She could hear him changing into his sleeping trousers, hurried movements in the chilled hush, and then he slipped beneath the blankets of his pallet.

In the still darkness, he wept. Curled into the wall, he muffled his sobs in his pillow, and it was all she could do to stay still. He cried with the broken gasps of a child, but he was correct. He was not a child any longer.

Morrigan clutched the edge of her blanket and rolled away, turning her back to him. A long time passed before he slept, though she did not. They would need to leave this place, as soon as possible, and her mind whirred with the logistics that the move would entail.

Calum whimpered in his sleep.

Morrigan turned her face in the direction of his bed and waited, listening.

He whimpered again, a panicked intake of breath.

She slipped from beneath her covers, ignoring the chill that seeped into the soles of her feet as they touched the floor, and crossed over to where he lay. She kneeled down and smoothed away the hair that hung over his forehead, caressing the clammy skin beneath. His magic was bulging, straining against the barrier that contained it like an overfull water skin.

His eyes opened, his brow wrinkled in pain. "It hurts. When will it stop?"

"I do not know. Soon, I should think. Once your power is free, everything will be different," she whispered.

Calum shifted uncomfortably and groaned.

"Here," she said, "may I?" Morrigan placed her hand against his chest and he nodded.

She inhaled slowly and opened herself up, allowing his power to drain into her, letting it filter down and mingle with her own. His magic tasted like the forest in autumn, scattered leaves and ripe fruit, all swirled with spice. Pulling harder, she let blooms of color fill the room, like silken scarves tossed into the air and fluttering to the ground. Morrigan siphoned off his energy—there was so  _much_  now—and released it in a near constant stream until his muscles relaxed and he sagged back against the bed with a sigh.

"'Tis better?" she asked quietly, removing her palm as the last shreds of color fell in tatters to the floor.

His hand found hers and squeezed. "Thank you."

Morrigan patted his shoulder and stood up. "Good night. Get some sleep. We will be leaving the morning."

"I… I am sorry." He rolled away from her and hunched miserably against the wall.

She sat down on the bed next to him and stroked his hair. "I understand," she said, biting back the 'little one' that nearly followed. "More than you know." Mother had dealt with her rebellious urges harshly, done things she would not do, would  _never_  do to him.

Morrigan tucked the covers up around his shoulders and kissed his temple lightly. "Good night."

"Good night, Mother," he whispered.


	11. Ascension

**Ascension**

* * *

" _We know that birth takes a woman from one place in her life to another. The birth of a child certainly does change her viewpoint of herself and I believe her viewpoint of the world."_

_~ Sameerah Shareef_

* * *

They were coming.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw them, coming for him. The Divine had declared an Exalted March, and it was only a matter of time before they were found. Calum was sleeping, curled on his side on his blankets, his face still reminiscent of the little boy she remembered, though less and less of him remained with each day that passed.

Morrigan sipped her tea. After so much preparation, so much sacrifice, they were nearly there. She could feel Calum's power tensed below the surface, aching to be free, and she had no doubt that the other mages across Thedas could feel it, too. Like the fine cracks in the eggshell of a hatching chick, his magic was bleeding out over the land. There were whispers of it already; so many more magical children being born, old schools of magic being rediscovered… Soon, that last barrier would break, and there would be no stopping them; they would crush the Chantry into dust beneath their feet. Morrigan set her mug down on the ground and stirred the porridge that was bubbling in the pot over their campfire. There was no sense in hiding any longer. Calum's magic was calling to them, in the wind, in the water, in the earth. The army of templars was coming.

He stirred and sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "Good morning, Mother."

"Good morning. There is porridge ready, if you would like."

"Yes, please." He yawned and stretched. "I just need a moment to wake up."

Morrigan took two bowls from her pack and ladled some of the porridge into each one to cool. They ate breakfast together in a companionable silence and she waited as Calum washed up and changed at the small creek nearby. Together, they went out into the forest, under the quiet calm of the tall pines.

"Are you ready?" she asked, glancing sideways and looking up at him. When had he become so tall?

He shook his head, his long hair falling into his eyes. "No, but I feel that 'tis time. The Divine is dreaming of me; she seeks me in the Fade every night now."

"We are not far. When I flew last night, the lights from their fires were visible on the horizon. There is a ridge only a half-day's travel from here where I believe we should make our stand, as the army will have to come through the valley to get there."

Calum stopped and picked up a pinecone, turning it over in his hands before meeting her gaze. "Have we the strength to face an army, just us two?"

"We have little choice. Your power is on the cusp of release now, and they know it. Continuing to run buys us nothing, and 'twould allow them to select the battleground to their advantage rather than ours."

He nodded and tossed the pinecone far into the trees. "Then let us go."

oOoOo

Calum and Morrigan stood on the top of the ridge as the sea of templars below them shuffled into perfect lines to await their orders. At the rear, like a boat navigating through treacherous waters, the Divine's palanquin slid along the back ranks. Morrigan was surprised that she would dare come so close but, of course, the Maker would protect them all, his chosen warriors. Such foolishness.

Calum stood calmly next to her, surveying the army that stretched out before them. If he was worried that his power was still not yet at its peak, he made no indication of it. His hands were tucked inside the pockets of his robes, guarded against the chill morning air.

A hush fell over the valley as a woman in armor, her breastplate emblazoned with the symbol of an eye in the center of a pointed sunburst, stepped forward from the front lines. She wore no helmet, and she stared up at them for a long moment before speaking, her voice cool and clear in the forced stillness.

"Let it be known that the Divine, Galatea II, has declared war upon you, Morrigan, daughter of Flemeth, and you, Calum, son of Morrigan, for you are both maleficars and heretics in the eyes of the Maker. For your transgressions, we shall wipe the world clean of your presence that you may find no rest in this world or beyond. As there is but one world, one life, one death, there is but one god, and He is our Maker. They are sinners, who have given their love to false gods. There is but one Truth. All things are known to our Maker and He shall judge their lies." She drew her greatsword, its point aimed at where they stood. "Do yield before the Maker's might, that you may beg for absolution?"

"We do not." Calum's voice was strong and steady. "Your false god has abandoned you, yet you still rally behind his absence to justify the evil that is done in His name. I will free your slaves and they will rise up against you. I will tear down the Black City, so that its falsehoods will call to mankind no longer. Thedas will be remade in my image." He slowly turned his head as his gaze took in the entirety of the army below. "Do you throw yourselves at my mercy, or do you seek your deaths at my hand?"

The Seeker raised her sword high. "The Maker's children do not yield!"

The templars roared and raised their weapons in response.

"I will hold them back," he said, meeting her eyes.

Morrigan nodded in understanding. He already far exceeded her abilities with most creation spells, but she was still superior when it came to magic that damaged and destroyed. They each had their role to play, and she instinctively threw a shield up over both of them as the first volley of arrows struck.

Calum crouched down and began scratching symbols into the dry soil at their feet as Morrigan summoned a storm over the valley below. Dark clouds of deep purple gathered overhead as arcs of lightning crashed down into the armored forces below. The glittering golden palanquin shuddered to life, pulling the Divine away from the onslaught. Calum was muttering furiously as he channeled his energy through the rough gouges he had made in the earth. She glanced down and counted—seven. Could he truly maintain that many? A wave of templars, led by the Seeker, had charged the ridge, though the constraints of the landscape limited their ascent to only a few at a time. Morrigan brought forth another storm, snow and ice this time, before turning briefly to send a directed blast at the first two templars to reach their position.

"How are you managing?" she asked as another hail of arrows rained down on them. They skittered harmlessly off her shield.

"All right. I just need to… concentrate." His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily. Not only was he controlling more glyphs than she had thought was even possible, but he had also stretched them out to protect a greater area than she had ever seen, keeping them just out of range of the templar's mana draining abilities. She could feel his magic flexing under the strain, but it was still trapped. She had to buy him more time.

Between the two of them, they exhausted their supply of lyrium, empty glass vials littering the rocky ground beneath their feet. Morrigan's magic carved through the Divine's army, though she scarcely noticed. As her destruction fell upon them, her eyes rarely strayed from Calum as he whispered the words that maintained the tenuous protection that held the templars at bay.

They were surrounded now. The first warriors that had tried to cross his markings had been brutally flung back and now the others circled, waiting. The Seeker stood at the edge of his barrier before him, unmoving, poised to charge and run him through the moment his focus dropped. Morrigan summoned horrors that sent some of them running, but more took their place. A cold trickle of fear slid down her spine. Could they really fail now, after everything? Why was his power still bound? The glyphs that protected them flickered, though they still shone with blue light.

"I… cannot—" Calum was panting, his forehead beaded with sweat.

She looked in the pouch at her waist. Empty. There was no lyrium left.

"You must," she said, directing a trickle of her energy into him. It sank into him like parched earth craving rain. His mana was nearly depleted. Without a thought, Morrigan channeled more of her power into him, and he gasped in relief.

"More," he whispered, "please."

She gave him more, and the glyphs flared high, pillars of light shooting up around them. Beneath the might of her magic, his power pushed back, straining, reaching…

"More."

She gave him more as another round of arrows dropped from the sky.

"More."

She gave him more and his magic burst free in an explosion of light, a column of fire that barreled skyward, enveloping him in a swirling vortex of flames. The flames folded back, like the petals of a flower coming into bloom, revealing the man who was no longer a man. Power rolled off him in waves, illuminating him from within.

oOoOo

" _You will yield."_  The ground trembled beneath the weight of his voice.

A handful of templars fell to their knees, although the Seeker stayed defiantly on her feet. "You are an abomination! You cannot stand before the might of our faith! The Maker and his Chosen shall—"

She disintegrated into a pile of ash, her armor crashing to the ground.

There was silence as Urthemiel looked around.  _"This must be undone before it can be remade."_  He raised his hands, and fire rained down from the sky, sheeting over the land around them until nothing remained but metal and bone. Only the templars who had kneeled remained untouched.

The blue glyphs still pulsed with light, and he extinguished them with a thought. The part of him that had been Calum pulled at his consciousness.  _Turn and look_ , it said,  _you must not forget_. Urthemiel turned and saw where Morrigan lay sprawled in the dust, a trio of arrows protruding from her chest. He fell to his knees.

 _No_.

Gathering her into his arms, he cradled her body against his chest. Beneath the reek of blood, there was the hint of lavender that still clung to her hair.

They sat together, just the two of them, as the sun set and then rose again, before he could move. Urthemiel stood up effortlessly, holding her close as if she were a babe, and began to walk.


	12. Where We Began

**Where We Began**

* * *

_Every mother is like Moses. She does not enter the promised land. She prepares a world she will not see._

_~ Pope Paul VI_

* * *

He walked through for two days and nights, never stopping, never tiring, his great strides carrying him back to the lands of his birth. He crossed the river where the silver fish still darted hungrily beneath the low shelves of rock, through the forest with its giant trees, to the clearing where the little house still stood alone, but not forgotten. The door creaked as he pushed it open, and the air inside still hung with the musty scent of herbs left to dry. Urthemiel lay Morrigan down on the bed and opened the shutters, allowing the light to stream in one last time. After a moment, he pulled the blankets up to her chest, covering the place where the punctures still gaped open from where he had wrenched the arrows free. He did not heal them; to make her skin perfect and whole would have diminished her sacrifice.

Urthemiel moved slowly through the house that was so much bigger in his memories, its rooms now quiet and lifeless. He opened the shutters in the kitchen as well, before running his fingers through the dust on the table where his mother had once sat and taught him to read. The great bathtub near the hearth, once an ocean, now seemed small and ordinary; there was a memory there, of mama making his wooden boat race around the edge of the water as he splashed.

He returned to the bedroom where she lay still and remembered what it was like to curl into her warmth, her fingers stroking his hair, the steady drum of her heart next to his. He could raise her—his power was as boundless as the sky—but, he knew it was his place to go on alone. Could a god have a mother? The tatters of Calum that still clung to him wondered how he was ever going to live without her.

oOoOo

" _Mama?" He reached his fingers up to touch the softness of her cheek._

_Her voice was a muffled whisper in the darkness. "Yes, little one?"_

" _Will you tell me a story?"_

_She sighed, but he knew that she was only pretending to be annoyed. "Which one do you wish to hear? Not another one from that insipid fairytale book, I hope."_

_He cuddled in closer. "No, one about you. And me."_

" _Once, there was a mother and she had a son who had the most incredible stench because he refused to take a bath—"_

" _No," he said. "A_ good _story."_

_She tapped a finger against the tip of his nose. "You know, for someone who wishes to be told a story, you have an awfully large number of rules as to what this story must be like. Perhaps you should tell it instead."_

_He thought for a moment. "Okay. Once there was a mother who could do magic and she had a little boy and she taught him how to do magic, too. She loved him very much—"_

" _Wait one moment… I do not believe I have ever said that."_

" _But, you do love me, mama. I can tell."_

" _How can you tell?"_

_His brow wrinkled in thought. "Because you are here, of course."_

" _Oh?" She chuckled. "And what will happen when I am not here?"_

_He pulled at her arms, and she wrapped them around him. "You will always be here. With me."_

_She raised an eyebrow. "That is all you can come up with? You must have a stronger argument than that."_

_He touched the tip of her nose, returning her earlier gesture. "Because… I love you. So, you must love me back."_

" _Must I?"_

" _Yes." He yawned._

_She kissed him. "Go to sleep." She didn't need to say any more. His heart heard her as clearly as if she had spoken the words aloud._

oOoOo

Urthemiel bent down and kissed the forehead of this woman who had been his world, who had watched over him and protected him, who had given everything.  _"Rest now, little one. You have done well."_

He walked outside, shutting the door behind him. Fingers of sunlight reached down through the branches overhead to illuminate patches on the forest floor and he paused beneath one. With a murmur, flames began to lick up the walls of the cottage, consuming his memories, his childhood, his home. As her pyre burned, he knelt in the leaves and bowed his head, a son before his mother, a worshipper before a god.

Tears, hot and burning, rolled down his cheeks, wildflowers blooming where they fell. The flames soared higher, sending a column of smoke swirling into the sky as, all around him, the animals of the forest gathered, too; the great bear with her shaggy coat, the antlered stag, the hare, the fox. Urthemiel raised his hand, and the great trees that encircled the clearing bent low, huge trunks flexing as they stretched out their branches in supplication, weeping leaves down on to the mourners below.

oOoOo

As the moon rose, he sat in the cold, wet grass and watched the last of the fire slowly burn itself out. The animals turned one by one and vanished into the darkness of the forest, leaving nothing but the barest impressions of paws and talons and hooves in the earth. Urthemiel left the trees bowed low around the empty clearing, an open wound at the forest's heart.

Where there had been two, there was now just one.

In the gentle rustling of the wind through the leaves, in the rush of water in the river, in the pulse of his blood, in the quiet of his soul, he could hear her voice whispering to him. He would always be her little one.

'Twas time to go. He would be strong.

For her.

Always for her.


End file.
